


Of Allies and Armadillos

by nomeancity



Category: Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomeancity/pseuds/nomeancity
Summary: Timothy Stedding has made a new friend in South America, but he's not sure about the relatives...





	1. Interloper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsredboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsredboots/gifts).



Timothy looked nervously up at the grey stone house, then down again at the piece of paper in his hand. This was definitely the right address - there was nothing for it. He took a deep, steadying breath and put his hand on the gate, then let go as though it had burnt him at a sudden yell from the garden.

“HI, PEGGY! You galoot, you’ve forgotten the tent pegs!”

He started back, with the wild thought, somewhere between terror and relief, that _This could not possibly be a good time_ , then froze as a small cavalcade appeared round the side of the house. First, two children, a boy and a girl who could not be more than twelve years old, carrying a bundle of canvas. Timothy wondered suddenly if he had got the wrong house, because weren’t… But then he saw the two older girls following them, half running and chattering at the tops of their voices, even burdened with another bundle of canvas, an array of tent poles carried between them, and a small bag containing, he could only assume, the missing tent pegs. There could be no real doubt, but he still felt a shock of recognition when the taller girl turned to stare towards him and he caught a glimpse of Jim’s frown in a younger face. _That is definitely Nancy, which means the other one is Peggy…_ Who were the younger children, though? Some of the many friends Jim had mentioned? Would he have to talk to them _all_?

They were all talking over each other, as they scurried around putting those tents up. Maybe it would be fine, maybe he could just speak to their mother, Jim’s sister, Molly, she must be around here somewhere… He put his hand on the gate again, then saw Nancy glancing towards him with that same frown. She nudged Peggy and said something more quietly. _Or, at least, not at a shout._ Peggy turned to stare more openly and his heart quailed within him. He could hear his stammering explanations already, and they sounded so strange and implausible. _You see, I met your brother in South America and he said it would be fine if I took some things from his study… That I could work on his houseboat… No, we’d never met before…_ No. Why would anyone believe a tale like that?

 _Why, indeed._ He let go of the gate with decision and beat a hasty retreat back down the road. _Sorry, Jim. I’ll get your samples for you, but I don’t think I can face your family without you there._ After all, he told himself unconvincingly, Mrs Blackett must be so busy if her daughters had friends to stay for the holidays. She wouldn’t want to be bothered with another stray. He heard a shout of laughter from the garden and cast a quick glance back. Two red caps and two dark heads were all gathered round the newly-erected tents, as though admiring their handiwork. He allowed himself a single longing thought. _It would have been nice to meet Jim’s nieces, after hearing so much about them. I could tell them about the other Amazon River..._ He shook his head, remembering those suspicious stares, and walked faster.


	2. Three months earlier: Cusco, Peru

Timothy sighed and removed his hat. The hostel in Cusco was more comfortable in many ways than the _refugio_ he had been staying in lately, but that also meant there were more people. He thought fleetingly, with not a little longing, of the hut up in the mountains. He’d shared it with two guides, but they had both been Quechuan speakers and their utilitarian Spanish had not supported in-depth conversation. It had been very peaceful sitting on the other side of the fire, letting their talk wash over him.

Well, there was no need to talk to anyone in the bar, apart from the innkeeper. He gathered his wits and stepped through the door. The bar was dimly lit, but a fire flickered cheerfully in the hearth. It would have been considered warm to light one in England, but here it was winter and the locals had said it was unusually cold.

He leant on the counter and nodded civilly to the barman. “ _Una cerveza, por favor_.”

The fellow smiled in response and, he realised, in recognition of his accent, “Of course, _senor_.”

“Thank you.” Timothy watched him go to open a bottle, but started when another, unmistakably English, voice broke in.

“Here, I’ll get this one, Juan. Make that _dos cervezas_.”

Timothy turned to meet the man’s gaze. He was a stranger, but undoubtedly a fellow countryman - a stout chap wearing a battered felt hat, but with uncommonly keen eyes. Timothy guessed the stranger’s age as ten years or so above his own, and could not imagine why he had been bought a drink. “Erm, er - thank you, sir. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure…?”

The stout man nodded at him in a friendly way. “I doubt you have, unless I’m much mistaken. Couldn’t help but hear you talking to Juan, though - is that a Cumbrian accent?”

Timothy blushed at the attention and felt ridiculous for it. “I, um, well, yes. I grew up there - a long time ago.”

The stranger sat back with a satisfied expression, “I thought so. I’m from near Coniston, myself. Jim Turner, by the way.”

Timothy had forgotten his shyness at the name Coniston. “I’m Timothy Stedding. I say, you must know the Old Man well, then”

The man - Turner - grinned. “I climbed it when I was a nipper, with my sister and a friend. Been up there a good few times since, though I was always more of a sailor. It sounds like you know those fells, though.”

“Not well, but I ran over them when I was last home.” Timothy glanced away and covered his hesitancy with a sip of beer. “I, um, did a lot of fell running when I was a boy.”

Turner nodded, with a look of interest. “What part of the Lakes are you from, yourself?”

“Pooley Bridge.” He added hastily, “You won’t know it - it’s a tiny little place, near Ullswater.”

“I fancy I do, actually. Is there a good pub there - the Sun Inn?” At Timothy’s hesitant agreement, he continued, “There’s some lovely walking round there - you can follow the ridge all the way along to High Street, can’t you?”

Timothy smiled. “Yes - and there’s a beautiful round you can do from Howtown. Up to High Raise, then across to Angle Tarn and over Place Fell.”

Turner smiled back, and for a moment Timothy felt that they could have been in the Sun Inn, with his own hills waiting in the dark above them. The easy camaraderie of the pub, before he became a foreigner even at home. “I camped up by Angle Tarn once - it’s a lovely spot.”

“It is that.” Timothy paused, for once feeling like the silence might be comfortable rather than awkward. “Mr Turner, may I buy you another drink?”

“Oh, do call me Jim. ‘Mr Turner’ makes me feel like I’m back at Oxford and in no end of trouble. Thank you, yes, another beer would be grand.” Turner - Jim - continued, as Timothy beckoned to Juan, “It’s funny how those hills get a hold of you. I’ve been to some beautiful places around the world, but the Lakes aren’t like anywhere else.”

Timothy blinked to hear his own thoughts echoed back to him. “I wonder if it’s the places one knew as a child that keep their grip.”

Jim laughed. “You’re exactly right. My nieces love the lake and the hills - that’s the entire world, as far as they’re concerned, even now that they’re old enough to know better. They call the Old Man Kanchenjunga, because it was the highest peak they could see, from when they were tiny. They climbed it with some of their friends last year, but I don’t think it lost its magic.”

“No. It wouldn’t.” Timothy remembered the feeling of the world opening out around him when he first stepped onto the tor on top of Place Fell. The world had been larger when he’d walked down, but the hill hadn’t seemed any smaller for it. “Your nieces sound very imaginative.”

“And how!” Jim shook his head in seeming exasperation, but his grin was very fond as he ticked off points on his fingers. “They are Amazon pirates - except when they are intrepid explorers. They fight epic sea battles with their friends, when they aren’t joining forces to defeat the natives. All adults are natives, by the way, though some are more native than others. Nancy - that’s my elder niece - has told me that I am quite good at being one of them, sometimes.” He laughed at Timothy’s expression. “They’ve been referring to me as Captain Flint for the last couple of years - the pirate theme is very strong. I do have a pet parrot at home. Coniston itself, in case you were wondering, is Rio de Janeiro.” Timothy choked on his beer. “Yes, quite imaginative, as you say.”

“Quite!”

Jim hid his grin in his drink. “I think all youngsters have vivid imaginations, when they have the opportunity. My two harumscarums run around with a whole gaggle of friends during the holidays, and they all seem to invent stories as easily as they breathe.”

Timothy thought this sounded very different to his own solitary childhood. His happiest times had been spent alone among the hills. He also felt a sneaking envy of how fondly Jim spoke of his nieces. He would not speak of any of his family that way - nor they of him, now or previously. “You must miss your family, out here.” Jim’s grin faded and Timothy cursed himself for voicing the thought aloud. “I’m sorry, that was…”

Jim waved a hand impatiently. “No, no, it’s fine. Nancy would say I was wasting the summer - by being here, rather than at home with them, you see.” He sighed. “I would feel better if I had anything to show for it, so far, but there you are.” His gaze sharpened suddenly, “Never mind my affairs for the moment - tell me how I have managed to run across another Lake District man on this side of the equator. What brings you out here, Mr Stedding?”

Timothy gathered his courage in both hands. “Um, if I may call you Jim, please call me Timothy. Erm, well.” He took another sip of beer, “I’m a miner, you see.”

Jim sat back and gave him a sharp stare. “Are you, now?”

Timothy nodded, obscurely encouraged. “Yes. I had heard rumours of a new lode near here - probably the same seam as Chucapaca - but it seems that rumour was mistaken.”

Jim nodded. “I’ll wager you heard the same rumours I did, and were similarly disappointed. Seems like the Incas might have found the last unclaimed gold in these hills.” He studied his beer glass a little glumly and Timothy felt a sudden urge to offer some comfort, however small.

“Well, erm…” He hesitated, filled with the familiar feeling that he was being too forward, that Mr Turner - _Jim_ \- couldn’t possibly have any interest in what he had to say. _But he has stood by Angle Tarn, too…_ Jim glanced up from his almost-empty glass and cocked an enquiring eyebrow at him, spurring him to plunge on. “Um, I don’t know about disappointed, exactly… I mean, erm, I will have to find something soon…” _Or go home with my tail between my legs - no!_ “...But this is a beautiful part of the world, too. The mountains are just… Er, have you had a chance to see much of the country?”

Jim scratched his head, thoughtfully. “Can’t say I have. I mean, I’m pretty sure Chucapaca isn’t the pick of the landscape - particularly not now they’ve started working it.”

Timothy smiled a genuine smile for the second time that evening. “Oh well, we can’t have that. Er, would you care to - I mean, I had planned to walk up to the ruins at Sacsayhuaman tomorrow. Would you, um, care to join me...Jim? The views of the city are meant to be very fine from up there.”

Jim met his eyes with a dawning grin. “Do you know, Timothy, I would be delighted. Let’s drink to it. Juan - dos cervezas, and then I should probably call it a night.” He laughed. “If you are anything like the other explorers I know, we’ll be starting early.”

Timothy found himself grinning back as he agreed, obscurely heartened to be in the same class as Jim’s nieces.


	3. Hated Rival

Timothy gazed about him with a feeling of profound satisfaction. He probably shouldn’t be so happy - after all, he hadn’t seen any gosson or collected any samples yet, let alone found the vein that Jim was convinced was up here - but it was very good to be back among his own fells. It might be the hottest summer in twenty years, but it still wasn’t the suffocating, damp heat of the rainforest, and the air in the Lakes was like nowhere else. Maybe in the evening, when it was a little cooler, he could come for a run up here, see if he could still remember how… He remembered, with a sharp stab of exhilaration, the feeling of flying down the side of Coniston Old Man when he was last home - not enough time to be scared, barely enough time to see that there were only three, no, two runners ahead of him, the world narrowing to his own panting breaths and his focus on where his feet would go next. _There_ on that tussock, _there_ on that rock, _over_ that patch of bog…The last gut-wrenching sprint over the road and into the field - the flat ground so much harder, without gravity helping him and with his legs gone to jelly from the long downhill. He felt himself grin widely, remembering the look of startled respect from the second-placed runner as he’d gone to shake his hand. “You were behind me all the way down, you were. I never expected to have anyone but a local lad breathing down my neck. Ullswater way, you say? I thought I knew all the guide racers round there…”

Yes, it was very good to be back. He would have that run later, but now he had work to do. He pulled the map out of his pocket and studied it carefully. Jim had been very sure he’d seen signs of gosson on High Topps, but less certain of exactly where on all the fellside it had been. Where should he start? Perhaps at the lowest edge of the screes, where the heather ended and the bare rocks began… He set off across the heather, his legs remembering the long stride necessary to cover the ground through the tussocks, then stopped short as a small figure appeared ahead of him. For a chill moment he thought it was Nancy or Peggy and had a horrible vision of having to explain why he _hadn’t_ called in at Beckfoot. Surely Jim couldn’t have told them what he looked like - but, no, this was some other child, apparently out for a walk on the fells. He breathed a sigh of relief, briefly. Still, it would not do to startle her - he changed direction to avoid intersecting her path and began again, but now there was a boy up on the rocks ahead of him. He turned away again, cursing himself for being unsettled. Hadn’t he been a child up on the fells fifteen years ago? They had as much right to be here as he had.

He was so preoccupied that he almost tripped in startlement when a small boy seemed to erupt out of the heather ahead of him with a yell. “Hi! Dick - I’ve got a beauty!”

Timothy unashamedly turned tail. _At least I was quiet when I was up here!_ He was almost beyond surprise when he spotted two red caps among the heather in the distance. _Maybe I will go the long way round to the edge of Grey Screes, after all._ He set off steadily along the edge of the fell, aiming for the shoulder of the hill. He couldn’t suppress the feeling that Jim would laugh very hard when he heard about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's yelling is taken directly from _Pigeon Post_ and, as a consequence, belongs to Arthur Ransome.


	4. Three months earlier: Sacsayhuaman, above Cusco, Peru

“Timothy, how much further is it to these ruins?”

Timothy looked back, hiding a smile, at Jim’s panted question. “Not much further at all, I think, though I’ve never been up here before.”

“Now he mentions it.”

Timothy laughed at the mock exasperation in Jim’s voice, then paused, both in surprise at how carefree he felt and to catch his breath. To be fair to his new acquaintance - _friend?_ \- they were at more than 12,000 feet, so the effect of altitude was not insignificant, and the climb from the city had been steep. He waited for Jim to catch up, still smiling. He did not often feel at ease with people, particularly those he had just met, but the camaraderie that he had felt with Jim the night before had not worn off when they’d met outside the hostel this morning. Before the climb had stolen both their breaths, they’d exchanged mild small talk. Jim had been at Oxford, but had left in his third year without taking his degree. Timothy had somewhat bashfully admitted that he had left Cambridge with a Master’s degree in geophysical chemistry, which had drawn an impressed look from Jim. “You’re a useful chap to know, then, in mining terms.” Timothy had shrugged, secretly flattered.

Timothy paused politely as Jim rejoined him, wanting to give the other man a chance to catch his breath, but Jim waved him on. “Lead on, then, oh mountaineer. If we’re nearly at the top.”

Timothy bit back a grin and replied, drily, “Hardly, to both. There’re three more ruins above Sacsayhuaman, you know…”

He didn’t have breath to continue and then it was ten, twenty, more steps and they emerged on the plateau. Jim gave a soft whistle as his eyes met the immense fortifications. “How on earth did they move those stones - some of them must weigh several tons…”

Timothy only half heard him - he’d turned to gaze out at the view across the city and to the hills and mountains beyond. The air was clear and he could see the snow-capped peaks of the Andes in the far distance. _Dear God, I love the high, lonely places._ He sat down on a nearby, less impressive stone and just stared.

Jim glanced round and strolled over to join him. They both looked out in silence for a few moments. Somewhere overhead a hawk called.

Timothy, remembering that not everyone wanted to stand and stare - _like you’re half-daft, boy_ \- prised his gaze from the view. “I’m sorry, shall we take a look round the ruins?”

Jim smiled at him. “In a minute. You were quite right, it’s a spectacular view from here.”

Timothy smiled back in agreement, before returning his gaze to the far-away hills. “It is that.”

“I was quite right, too, of course.” He continued, at Timothy’s quizzical look, “You are a mountaineer - you’re in your element, up here, just the same as I’d rather have a ship's deck under my feet. I imagine you go climbing in the Lakes, too.”

Timothy found himself replying without hesitation, somewhat to his own surprise. “A bit - but I only started climbing at home because I wanted to get to places like this. Some chaps, it’s about - I don’t know, the challenge. I just wanted to get up and out on the hills. The climbing was just because there were a few places I couldn’t run or walk to.” He paused for a moment, then went on in a rush of confidence, “That was why I ended up in mining, you know. I was good at the chemistry, and mining got you out of the laboratory and into the hills.” He stopped, astonished at his own temerity. _I don’t usually talk this much._

Jim just nodded, as though he completely understood. “The mining was just another adventure, for me. I’ve been - seeking my fortune, I suppose you could call it, ever since I left Oxford. I studied chemistry, but I never much fancied working in a laboratory, either.” They grinned in mutual understanding, before turning back to the view.

“Where did you go - to seek your fortune? Apart from South America, I mean.” Timothy blushed, slightly ashamed of his curiosity, but Jim didn’t seem to notice.

“Malaysia. Java. Australia. South Africa.” Timothy looked up sharply at that, but Jim continued, “It helped that I’d always loved ships and sailing, so I would happily work my passage to almost anywhere. Mind you, I still haven’t found that fortune. Would you believe it, the thing that’s done best has been my memoirs. I wrote them up a couple of years back, and they’re selling all right so far…” He shook his head, as though in amazement, then turned to Timothy with a smile. “Your turn. It’s clear you’ve some experience of mining as well as mountains. Found any fortunes yet?”

Timothy shrugged and smiled. “I’m afraid not. I worked in South Africa before this - as an engineer for a company called De Beers. Diamond mining, mostly, some gold - but I, um. Wasn’t that keen on the country or the work.” He glanced away. “After Cambridge, I needed to find work and, er, that was what there was. Anyway, I thought I would come over here and try my luck on my own.” He paused. _My luck hasn’t been that good so far._

Jim looked at him thoughtfully. “Timothy, if I may ask, what are your forward plans?”

Timothy stared at him, for a moment. “My plans, erm, aren’t very fixed. I had thought of travelling further inland to the Amazon, then down the river to Brazil, but I hadn’t quite decided yet.” _Travelling on the river will be cheap and interesting, and probably only mildly perilous._

Jim nodded in sudden decision. “I am planning to go back to Brazil, too. Would you be interested in travelling together?” Timothy stared, as he went on, “I’ve heard some more rumours - about copper this time, in Pernambuco.” He grinned at Timothy’s expression. “Now, I know copper isn’t nearly as exciting as gold, but I wonder if it might be more reliable.”

“I, um. I mean, that sounds very interesting and, yes, copper is… But, Jim, why are you asking me?” _Why are you cutting me in on your claim?_

Jim just grinned at him and shrugged. “Like I said, you seem a useful chap to have around. I’d enjoy the company - it’s a long way to Brazil through the Panama Canal.”

“The Canal? Erm, but I haven’t bought passage…” _I’m not sure if my funds will stretch to it, either._

“I’m paying to have the cabin to myself as it is. It’s nothing fancy - if we split the cost…” He named a sum that was within even Timothy’s slender means.

“If you are sure…”

Jim smiled. “I’m sure. You’ve taken me up a mountain, now it’s my turn to take you on the sea.”


	5. Rescue Party

“We’ve got to run for it. All right if we get away up on the screes.” Timothy kept his voice calm and steady, despite the smoke billowing over the edge of the gully and the crackle of the flames. The children were not panicking yet - Jim would be proud of Nancy and Peggy - but he could see the other girl was close to it.

“We can’t,” Nancy said, certainty ringing in her voice. Timothy wondered if she knew just how much like her uncle she sounded. He climbed the side of the gully in two quick strides to check. 

She was right. The fellside was a sea of flames and he felt a pang of loss. It would be a while before he could run over this again. Much worse, though, he realised with a chill, if he couldn’t get the children out... Surely it could not have come up all round them that fast… There - he could see clear air towards the north.

“We’ve a chance yet. There’s a bit of a gap to the norrard.” He almost didn’t notice the slip back into his childhood tongue, as they all turned to run along the gully. The children were not slow, but the flames still beat them to the gap.

Timothy gazed around, but there were no more gaps in the line of fire surrounding them. What now? He had to get the children to safety, but what safety? The ground in the gully was at least stony - perhaps they could make a stand here? The fire would burn through fast, he knew that - there was little vegetation on the fells for it to burn - but it would be bad enough. “...I’m afraid we’re fairly trapped.” _Jim, I’m sorry - I’m trying to protect them for you..._

Nancy, far from panicking, gave him a look of pure impatience. “Come on. Get back into the mine.”

He must have gaped at her. “What mine?”

The triumphant look she gave him took him straight back to a hillside above Pernambuco. “Ours.”

Timothy could almost have laughed with a combination of relief and jubilation as they emerged from the children’s astonishing mine after the fire had passed. He would _not_ have to explain to Jim how he had failed to rescue his beloved nieces from a fire _and_ this find might even give him a clearer guide to the vein - it must be around here somewhere… Perhaps he might even dare to introduce himself to Mrs Blackett, even if belatedly, when he escorted the children off the fell - maybe not though, that would take a bit of explaining… All thoughts of veins and explanations were driven from his thoughts, however, by the other girl’s - Susan, Nancy had called her - shaking voice: “The others won’t know what to do.”

“What others?”  
“Three more of us. Younger than us. In the camp at the top of the wood.” Peggy’s voice didn’t shake, but she looked pale. Nancy looked grim.

 _The camp at the top of the wood…_ He went cold, despite the sun, despite the flames, at the thought of more children, this time without any adult help, trapped between a burning fellside and a wood that might already have been set ablaze by sparks.

The boy, John, echoed his thought, “The wood itself may be on fire,” and started impetuously forward.

Timothy flung out a restraining hand. “Not that way. You follow me. We’ve got to cut round that lot.” The ground was still hot, but he had boots on, he’d be fine - and it was all downhill from here. He took three quick strides, then spared one glance back. Good, yes, John had turned and they were all following his lead. These four were safe, the fire was ahead and the burnt fellside around them would act as a firebreak, even if another fire should be started somewhere behind them. Having reassured himself, he turned and let go, feet flying over the heather. He ran until his heart hammered in his ears and wished for the terrifying gradient of the Old Man - _Kanchenjunga_ \- so he could go faster still. Somewhere ahead of him, through the smoke, were some children that needed what help he could give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is taken directly from _Pigeon Post_ \- obviously, this text is Arthur Ransome's and much superior to my own.


	6. One month earlier: Pernambuco, Brazil

Timothy and Jim emerged from the mine into the last glimmer of the sunset. The stars were already out, faintly - soon it would be pitch black, Timothy thought. He still wasn’t used to the short, equatorial dusk. Jim gave a deep sigh and kicked a rock out of the way.

“Well, that was a waste of time.”

Timothy shrugged acquiescence. There was nothing new here to see, no new finds to be worked. That was their last card played. He thought, with a pang, of the long journey back to Britain, when the disappointment would become increasingly real. He’d have to find another job - De Beers would have him back, he knew they would, but he didn’t want to go back to South Africa. He had hoped that he could build something here…

Jim sat down on a nearby boulder with another sigh. Timothy silently joined him and stared out at the lights of Recife below them and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. This part of Brazil had nothing to compare to the Andes in terms of mountains, but even he found the sound of the waves soothing. He knew Jim did. The dusk deepened until the stars were as bright as diamonds above them - brighter, Timothy thought. He felt qualified to say for sure. It was unlike Jim to be silent for this long, but he was still staring at the horizon. Timothy sensed that it was now a thoughtful, rather than a gloomy, silence, and wondered what would come next. For all Jim’s exasperated tales of his nieces’ impetuosity - particularly Nancy’s - Timothy had a suspicion that “imaginative” schemes were a family trait.

They sat still for long enough that Timothy heard a rustling nearby and then spotted a low, rounded shape trundling among the rocks. An armadillo. He heard Jim catch his breath in surprise and grinned in the darkness. The armadillo continued its foraging unhurriedly for a few minutes, then paused to sniff the air. It froze, then gave them what Timothy could have sworn was a disgusted look, before scampering off with surprising speed. Jim let out a low laugh.

“Well, would you believe that? Titty would have loved to see one of those.”

Timothy smiled. “I don’t think you should bring her one back as a pet.”

“Maybe not - a parrot is probably enough. Mrs Walker might not forgive me an armadillo.”

There was a pause, then Timothy heard Jim draw breath. _Here we go._ “Look here, Timothy, have you ever been up on High Topps?”

Timothy blinked at the unexpectedness of the question. “That’s the fellside to the north-east of the Old Man, isn’t it? No, I don’t think so - I’ve mostly been up higher than that, round there. Over Swirl How and Black Sails. Um, why?”

“I was just thinking… There’s lots of old mine workings up there.” Jim paused interrogatively for a moment and Timothy groped for an intelligent response.

“Erm, yes. Those are all over the Lakes, though. Er, were you thinking of any in particular?”

“Maybe… It was copper they were looking for, up on High Topps.”

Timothy focused on Jim properly as he said slowly, “And copper we were looking for today, if with rather more modern methods.”

Jim gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. “Exactly. I was listening to you chatting to that bloke from the mining company earlier, about gosson. About how looking for gosson to guide you to the start of a vein is a relatively new way to mine.” He leaned forward. “Timothy, I hadn’t paid too much attention to gosson before today, but I had a proper look while you were talking and I would swear I’ve seen some up on High Topps.”

“There could be gosson still there even if the vein is worked out, you know.” Timothy tried to tamp down the bubble of excitement in his chest that was growing with Jim’s obvious enthusiasm. _I could find some work in my own hills?_

“It can’t be though. They didn’t ever find anything worth mining seriously on High Topps - it’s all just little scrapings.” Jim slapped his knee with finality. “I think it’s worth a look. What do you say?”

Timothy gave a startled laugh. “What, just like that?”

“Why not?” Jim’s tone was light, but his face in the moonlight was serious. “I’m going home anyway - to regroup, as it were. If there’s copper in those fells, I might as well look for it.” He paused. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’d be glad if you’d join me. I’ve enjoyed these last few months.”

Timothy blushed with pleasure and was glad of the darkness. “Erm, so have I. Enjoyed travelling together that is, but, Jim, my passage out is booked for the day after tomorrow. I know you aren’t leaving for another week.” He didn’t need to say _I can’t afford to change it when we haven’t found anything yet_.

Jim waved a hand airily. “No matter. I mean, it’s a bore that I can’t come with you, but the ship is fully booked. I checked this morning. I’ll give you the Beckfoot address and send a letter telling them to expect you. You can have the run of my study - have a proper look at all my maps and maybe even see if you can’t find some samples on High Topps before I get back.” He grinned at the thought.

Timothy let himself imagine looking for copper among his own hills - with a friend and comrade who appreciated them. It was an enticing thought, but… “Jim, are you sure that Molly will be happy to give a complete stranger the run of her home? Even part of her home?” He had a sudden horrid vision of a suspicious mother refusing to let him beyond the doorstep. “What about Nancy and Peggy?”

Jim’s grin only widened. “I’ll send them a telegram telling them to be kind to you.” He began to laugh. “It may not work, but the worst that will happen is they’ll make you walk the plank. It’ll do you good.”

Timothy had to laugh at that, if not without some qualms. He rather hoped Jim was speaking metaphorically about the plank.


	7. Ally

“TIMOTHY!”

Timothy had no time to even startle at hearing his first name shouted over the crackle of the fire. He spared one moment to glance back to where he'd left the younger children, safely beyond the flames, and felt his heart turn over at the sight of a very familiar figure. _Thank God, it’s Jim. He can sort out those children…_ He raised a hand, then had to turn his attention hastily to a newly smouldering patch of grass. _No, not now, we’re holding it still…_ He beat out the latest sparks, but there were always more, and his legs were starting to shake in reaction to that unaccustomed sprint across the smoking fell… He heard running steps and then there was suddenly another fire broom working next to his own. He looked up in time to return the grin that Jim flashed at him and heard a gasped, “Good work, my lad. By God, it’s good to see you,” but neither of them had leisure to say more.

Nor did they for the next few hours. Timothy was only aware of Jim working next to him through the smoke and of the next patch of flames he had to beat out - until, suddenly, he found himself standing next to a burnt patch of grass with the smoke almost clearing around him. Jim put a hand on his shoulder.

“I think we may have done it. This is the burn old Jolys’ men made.”

“What?” Timothy blinked owlishly at him and rubbed a hand across his own face, then stared in surprise when it came away black with soot.

Jim, almost as begrimed, grinned. “Colonel Jolys’ firefighters. They managed to get ahead of the fire and burn a firebreak, so it’s run out of fuel. Look, you can see the smoke beginning to clear.”

“Oh. Good.” Timothy looked up and realised he could see the shape of the hills again. “I’m glad.” He suddenly felt very, very tired. “It’s good to see you, Jim.”

Jim put an arm around his shoulders. “Not half as good as it is to see you. Don’t think it had escaped my notice who came to the rescue of those hare-brained young ‘uns. Timothy, I don’t know how to thank you.”

Timothy blushed. “Please don’t, then. If anything, they rescued me. Jim, it was the rummest thing - I’d been looking for an old mine working for days and they’d already found it.”

Jim laughed. “When you’ve spent more time with them, you won’t think that sort of thing is rum anymore. Come on, let’s go find them.” He didn’t say anything more about thanks, but Timothy felt the warmth of that arm round his shoulders for the rest of the walk through the wood.

Later, after a further visit to that astonishing mine working, Timothy was beginning to think he might wake up and find it was all a dream at any moment. Only the ache in his legs and back and the reassuring reality of the children’s chatter made him certain that it was not. They had finally found a promising vein of copper. He didn’t need to go back to South Africa. He could stay and work among these fells. He smiled sleepily into the tame flames of the campfire, then half-startled as Jim said quietly “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go straight to Beckfoot. You’re not telling me that this lot were actually enough to scare you off?”

“More than enough. You’d have been scared yourself if they weren’t your relatives.”

“They aren’t all my relatives. Besides, I had telegraphed to tell them to be kind to you.”

“And forgotten to send the explanatory letter,” Timothy added drily. He supposed Jim was at least still forbearing from thanking him.

Jim started to grin, then to laugh. “I didn’t need to - they were expecting you. They’d even built a special bedroom for you. I’ve seen it myself, with ‘Welcome Home’ and your name on the door. A bit small, perhaps, but goodwill is what matters.”

Timothy roused himself enough to give Jim a quizzical stare, but was distracted by Titty, who said, rather sadly, “It would have fitted perfectly if he _had_ been an armadillo.”

The pieces finally fell into pace and Timothy joined in Jim’s laughter. He remembered that armadillo in the moonlight above Pernambuco and reflected that things had finally come full circle. He smiled at Titty. “I’m sorry I wasn’t an armadillo - that would probably have been more fun.”

She smiled tentatively back. “It’s fine. You made a very good hated rival - and an even better rescue party.”

Timothy felt warmed by more than the fire. “I’ll try to be a good ally from now on.”

Titty nodded seriously. “I’m sure you will be an excellent ally, particularly if the mining keeps you and Captain Flint at home.”

Timothy shared a grin with Jim. “I think it will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is taken directly from _Pigeon Post_ \- obviously, this text is Arthur Ransome's and much superior to my own.
> 
> Thank you to my heroic beta readers! :)


End file.
